


thus always to tyrants

by 101places



Series: there is only you [6]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Character Death, F/F, Lesbians, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Twi'leks (Star Wars), but like... not really. its revan, i mean. just the one. but still, idk if this even COUNTS as flirting its that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24455374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/101places/pseuds/101places
Summary: The galaxy celebrates the death of Darth Revan.( AKA : the exile just wants to have a good gay time but they're interrupted by FEELINGS. gross. )
Relationships: Female Jedi Exile/Original Female Character, The Jedi Exile & Revan, The Jedi Exile/Original Character(s)
Series: there is only you [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686904
Kudos: 10





	thus always to tyrants

**Author's Note:**

> i got caught up in my revan & exile feelings and here we are
> 
> i also ended up getting way too attached to kore so she's just going to be one of my ocs now. love a funky little lesbian
> 
> all you really need to know about my exile for this is that she was friends with bastila. also my revan is nonbinary & uses any pronouns
> 
> as always, kudos/comments make me feel like a cute twi'lek lesbian is flirting with me

Sitting at the back of a crowded Cantina, the woman who used to be Meetra Pyrrik nursed a drink.

She hadn’t been in this system for long - and would not stay for much longer, for that matter. It was too close to the Republic for her comfort, and she preferred to keep moving these days. She had no roots left to put down, those that had existed in her youth had been cruelly severed, and now the wandering path of exile was all that was left to open to her.

This had been her life for the past two years. This would remain her life until the day that she died.

Around her, she could hear and see the celebrations of the other patrons, but what they were celebrating was unknown to her. She was not a part of their lives. She was an anomaly, existing in her own bubble, unnoticed, and she would remain that way until-

“Lady, I gotta tell you- gotta tell you some’ing.”

The Exile looked up, gazing at the drunkard standing over her with a neutral expression. “What do you want?”

“M’friend, thinks you’re pretty,” The drunkard spoke loudly, gesturing vaguely in some direction, “sh’ didn’t wanna come tell you herself, too shy, so I thought I’d-”

“Rol!” A voice interrupted, and a short pink twi’lek pushed through the crowd, reaching their table. “Don’t wander off like that! Ugh- how much have you even had to drink? Get back to the ship before you embarrass us any further!”

The drunkard, Rol, laughed, “I’m goin’, I’m goin’!”

With one last meaningful look at the Exile, Rol turned and left, making his own way through the crowd towards the exit.

The twi’lek watched him go, the look of fond exasperation on her face causing something to stir in the Exile, something like a distant memory that she willed herself to forget.

“I’m, uh, I’m sorry about Rol, ma’am.” The twi’lek spoke nervously, fiddling with one of her lek, “He’s a good man, he just… let the celebrations get to his head.”

The Exile nodded once, “It’s fine. I know the type.”

“Oh… well, I’m, uh, I’m glad no harm was done. I guess… I should just…” She shifted awkwardly on the spot.

The Exile looked her over subtly. She was quite beautiful, and truthfully, the Exile couldn’t recall how long it had been since she had last shared a conversation with any sentient longer than a minute or two. Perhaps the celebratory atmosphere was getting to her, but in that moment, the thought of company was rather attractive.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” The Exile asked, offering the twi’lek a tired smile.

The twi’lek’s eyes widened and her face turned a rather delightful shade of fuchsia, “O-oh! I mean, yes! That is to say, uh, um, would you… like a drink? With me?”

There was an amused twinkle in the Exile’s eyes as she replied, “Sure.”

The twi’lek darted away through the crowd, a spring to her step as she moved, to order their drinks. When she was out of sight, the Exile realised that she hadn’t asked her what she wanted and, now in the company of herself, she let herself chuckle quietly. How endearing.

The Exile leaned back in her chair, and drained the last of the drink she had been nursing. In truth, she didn’t feel much of an effect from alcohol these days - or from anything, for that matter. Not since Malachor…

She banished the thought from her mind, sending it away as quickly as it came. There never would be a time where she would allow herself to dwell on that. Some things were better left forgotten.

The twi’lek returned, carefully placing a brightly coloured concoction in front of her, and nervously taking a seat on the other side of the booth, holding her own drink and looking up at the Exile with bright amber eyes. She took a sip, then placed her drink back down in front of her.

“So, um… my name’s Kore. Sorry again about old Rol.”

“I told you, it’s fine.” The Exile said, then hesitated for a moment. “You can call me Pyrrik.”

“Pyrrik, huh? Pretty… uh- I mean- uh… kriff… How am I this much of a fool before I’ve had even one drink?”

The Exile gave a small, amused smile, “It’s cute.”

The fuchsia tone was back on Kore’s cheeks, and she took another sip of her drink in an attempt to swallow down her feelings, “S-so, uh! I noticed you were sitting here all alone. Do you have a story?”

“A story?” The Exile repeated softly, “I suppose I have, but it would take more than a drink to convince me to tell it.”

“Oh, I understand! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Kore looked out over the celebrating crowd, “I think everyone has a story like that. Especially today.”

“Right. The celebrations. What is that, anyway? Some sort of local tradition?”

Kore’s eyes snapped back to the Exile. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“I travel. Information can take a while to reach me. Did something happen?”

“ _ Yeah _ , you could say that!” Kore spoke enthusiastically, “I can’t believe you haven’t heard! It’s all anyone’s been talking about! I thought everyone knew!”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“They did it! The Jedi- they killed Darth Revan!”

The celebrations in the Cantina continued. The patrons cheered and danced, partied and made merry. Kore continued to look at the Exile with that wide-eyed, youthfully idealistic smile on her face. And, yet, all of a sudden, Meetra felt as if the world had frozen.

It was as if someone had pressed pause on a holovid. Nothing moved. Nothing spoke. All that remained was Meetra, herself, as her mind desperately tried to process the information she had been told.

Revan was… dead?

It didn’t seem possible. Revan was a storm condensed into human form - Revan was power itself. When Revan fought, they gave the impression of being invincible. It was this illusion that struck fear into the hearts of their enemies, that allowed them to push back against the Mandalorians so effectively. All who stood against them either died, or changed their colours. Revan was barely a sentient in the eyes of the galaxy. They were a beast, a monster, a force of nature. Unstoppable, indomitable.

Except…

Meetra knew better.

Revan was more than that. More than the powerful persona they displayed, more than the mask and the robes and the titles, as there was a living person underneath all of that.

A person with a wide smile, and bright eyes. A person whose hand had fit neatly within Meetra’s own, ever since they were children.

A person whose warmth had… turned cold? Who’s spark had been snuffed out?

It wouldn’t be unfair to say that Revan had been lost long ago. Meetra would never forget the way that Revan had turned their back on her when she had needed them the most. She would never forget the day that they had returned and named themself the Dark Lord of the Sith. She would never forget their betrayal, both of her and of everything that they had ever stood for.

But that didn’t mean that she wanted them dead.

“Pyrrik?” Kore’s voice brought her back to reality.

“...Sorry.” Her voice was void of the lightness it had begun to show. “Do you know who did it?”

“You mean who killed him? I’m not sure, but I can check… let’s see…” Kore pulled a holopad from her pack, quickly skimming through the information, “They sent a Jedi strike-team to infiltrate his ship. Says here the whole team was killed, except one, and that one is the one who did it.”

“Is there a name?”

“Bastila Shan.”

For the second time, Meetra felt as if the world around her was distorted, twisting, because the information she was being presented with made no sense.

Bastila killed Revan?

What was Bastila even doing there? She had made her stance on the Wars clear. Meetra could still remember well the last words that Bastila had said to her, condemning her, accusing her of turning her back on the Jedi way. She could remember the sting of that betrayal, too.

It… didn’t make… sense.

The walls felt like they were closing in around her, and suddenly the celebrations of the other patrons were far too loud, their voices and laughter drumming into her skull. She shut her eyes, instinctively reaching out for the Force to protect herself. But there was nothing.

Nothing. She was empty. She was lost. She was alone.

Revan was gone.

Revan the traitor, the betrayer, the conqueror, the butcher.

Revan, her friend.

Suddenly, there was a burst of cold air against her face, and her eyes snapped open. She was no longer in the Cantina, she realised distantly. She was outside, the walls were gone, as was the droning of the patrons, but her heart still pounded and her chest was still tight.

“Pyrrik, are you with me?” Kore’s voice asked, clear and void of its previous nervous edge.

“...Yeah.” Meetra croaked weakly.

“Great! Can you list five things you see?”

Meetra blinked slowly, and looked around at their surroundings. “I see… dust. I see the dunes. I see the Cantina. I see a swoopbike. I see you.”

“Now, four things you feel?”

“I feel the wind. I feel my robes. I feel the wall. I feel… your hand.” Meetra’s gaze flickered down to where Kore’s hand rested in hers. How long had they been holding hands?

“Three things you hear?”

“It’s… I know what you’re doing, and I appreciate it, but I’m fine now, Kore.”

Kore frowned. “Are you sure?”

Meetra nodded once, and released Kore’s hand. “I’m sure. Thank you.”

Silence stretched between the two of them for a few long moments, before Kore spoke up again, this time not looking at Meetra. “You’re a soldier, aren’t you? It’s okay, I’m not going to ask you to talk about it. I thought you might be from the start, you had this… look in your eye. I’ve mostly seen it in soldiers. People who’ve seen too much.”

Meetra stayed quiet, but didn’t deny Kore’s assumption. There was no point in lying.

“...And you knew him, didn’t you? The Dark Lord.” Kore swallowed. “For… what it’s worth? I’m sorry. I don’t understand it, but I’ve heard people - soldiers - say that he used to be a good man. A good commander. It’s… strange, I guess, that we celebrate his death, now, when we used to celebrate his victories.”

“Thus always to tyrants.” Meetra finally spoke.

Kore looked over at her inquisitively. “Huh?”

“It just means… he got what was coming to him.”

Silence stretched between them again, the only sound coming from those still celebrating within the Cantina. Meetra was fine to let the silence continue. It was what she had grown used to these past years.

But, once again, Kore broke it. “You should come back with me tonight.” Seeming to realise the forwardness of her proposition, she blushed once more, but soldiered on, “Uh, I mean, we’ve got a spare bed on our ship, and Rol won’t care. You can have breakfast with us, and everything!”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“I insist!” Kore spoke forcefully, before lowering her voice and continuing more gently, “And… I don’t think that you should be alone.”

Meetra sighed. “Fine. One night.”

Kore’s face lit up, and she led the way through the moon-lit night towards her ship.

Meetra trailed a few paces behind, her mind still processing the information she had been presented with.

Revan was dead. Bastila had killed them.

But… thinking of it would do no one good. What right did Revan have to affect her this deeply, after everything? None.

Revan had chosen their path. They had walked into the dark gladly, and they had left her to decay in their shadow. They were simply, now, reaping the consequences of their actions.

Meetra would shed no tears for them.

Never again.


End file.
